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we sweat it out in the streets of a runaway american dream

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It's a jerk move, and childish to the point that it's more like something Deadpool would do than him, but Peter really can't resist; with a deft flick, a jerk of the wrist, and a little bit of webbing the scarred merc's hotdog is yanked swiftly and neatly out of his hands and into Peter's own. Smirking, Peter takes a bite, watching for the reaction. Dinner and a show. For a moment, Deadpool is frozen, mouth still hanging open where he was about to take a bite and the confusion on his face is easy to read even from Peter's perch a yard or two above him, clinging to the wall. Peter's thankful for his more-than-human hearing when he catches Deadpool muttering, “Did you guys see that too or was it just me?”

Peter snickers, and Deadpool jumps, then looks up. Peter smirks and gives a little wave. It's fun to be the one getting the jump on Deadpool rather it being the other way round for once.

For once Deadpool reacts in a non-violent manner, looking actually kind of relieved. "Oh, hey it's you, great! For a moment we thought I was going crazy."

Peter rolls his eyes but refrains from saying anything on the grounds it would just be too easy.

The look of relief is soon replaced with something more murderous. "What gives anyway? I wasn't causing trouble, and if you're gonna kick me out of the city, you could at least have let me finish my food first."

"Oh, it wasn't because of anything you've done," Peter responds casually, "Not this time anyway. I stole your hotdog because I'm hungry."

"What?!" It's maybe a little mean, even if it is Deadpool he's messing with, because he sounds genuinely upset and betrayed, but so disproportionately so that Peter can't stop snickering. "I thought you were one of the good guys, since when did you go around robbing hapless citizens?"

Peter snorts at that and takes another bite out of the hotdog. Deadpool's eyes narrow. Peter smirks and smacks his lips obnoxiously, but he also tenses, ready to fight if the merc shows signs of becoming more unstable than usual. It would be just like Deadpool to go into a murderous rage over a hotdog. Still, Peter can't stop himself from goading the man a little more. " 're no' hap'ess o' a civilian," he says, muffled.

Deadpool seems to have no trouble translating though. "Oh yeah? Well, that's lucky, otherwise how would I be able to defend myself against your evil, hotdog-stealing ways?" His fingers twitch towards the gun at his waist.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Peter says, leaning back on his haunches, "or I'll forget about the hotdog and get round to actually kicking you out of the city."

It's a bit of a chance that Deadpool will listen, but either he's here on business he can't afford to get kicked out of the city for, or he's currently more concerned than usual about opening fire in a space with civilians. "You know, last time someone stole my food they got stabbed in the leg," Deadpool says conversationally.

Peter snorts and takes another bite, "And that's why you don't have friends, Wade."

It's only because his mask is still half-rolled up from where he was about to eat that Peter catches the way Deadpool's mouth turns down momentarily, as if he's genuinely hurt for a second, before the stupid shit-eating grin is plastered back on and the gratingly cheery talking starts up again. He might feel bad about the hurt Deadpool clearly is masking, if it wasn't for what the merc is saying.

"Yeah well, the jokes on you pal, because I never wash my hands."

Peter frowns, revolted, and pauses in eating. "You mean after going to the bathroom? Well, while that's disgusting I don't see how it matters since you're wearing gloves."

Deapool doesn't say anything, but his smirk grows, and for once the silence is worse than the talking.

"Tell me you don't," Peter groans, feeling sick, but it's Deadpool, of course he doesn't bother taking his gloves off when he goes to the bathroom. Peter's heard that he's been spotted doing his shopping in that suit.

"Hey, just be glad I didn't end up in a stall without toilet paper today."

"That is so unhygienic," Peter mutters, appetite gone.

"Hello, healing factor? It's not like I have worry about getting sick."

"You are sick," Peter growls, “and you can have the hotdog back.” He lets it drop, hoping it'll land on the merc's head.

Deadpool shrugs and steps easily out of the way, letting it splatter to the ground. "After you've had your mouth on it? No way, how do I know you're not contagious?"

Peter opens his mouth to retort that if anyone should be worrying about catching something, it's him, but he's interrupted.

"Hey, costumes! Either of you two gonna pick that up?"

He and Deadpool both turn. The newspaper vendor a couple of feet down the side-walk glares at both of them unrepentant and unafraid, arms crossed as he looks pointedly at the hotdog on the sidewalk. "Bad enough with youse tearing up the city every five minutes when you get in fights with each other, but now you're littering?"

"Let me guess, he sells The Bugle,” Peter mutters, then says louder, "Sorry, sorry, I'll get it." Another flick of his wrist and webbing and the hotdog is the trash-can. "There, I'm sorry, it won't happen again I promise."

"Good," grunts the vendor, somewhat mollified.

"Oh he says he's sorry now, but just wait, five minutes later and he'll be swinging out of here, leaving that white junk just hanging round the city, and what's that stuff made of anyway? You ask me, a better name would be Litter Bug." Deadpool leans against the wall, shaking his head in mock sadness.

"Heh, I like that, that's clever," the vendor nods, and Peter groans. With his luck that'll be tomorrow's headline. "You're alright, for a costume." The old man nods at Deadpool, then shuffles back to his stand, leaving Peter spluttering in disbelief.

"Here that, Spidey? 'Alright'. Ringing endorsement like that, I should put it in my testimonials." Deadpool is still leaning against the wall, arms crossed casually over his chest, idly watching the crowd bustling past. A few people give them odd looks and Peter winces, wondering what this is doing for his already tattered reputation.

"Look mom, it's Spider-Man!" A kid tugs at his mom's hand, pointing excitedly, and Peter smiles automatically, lifting a hand to wave. "Who's that with him?"

His mom is clearly not as thrilled, arms weighed down with shopping, and Peter is considering offering her a hand in an attempt to combine good deeds with good P.R. until he hears her distracted response. "Probably his sidekick darling, they're wearing matching costumes."

"Oh, cool!" The kid grins and waves at Deadpool, who is beaming like more of a loon than usual and waving enthusiastically.

"He's not -" Peter shouts, but the mom is already tugging the kid away, impatient to get home, and soon they're both lost in the crowds. Peter sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, dragging his mask back down over his mouth as he decides it's definitely time to leave.

"Hear that?" Deadpool crows, "She thought I was your sidekick! Wow, kinda like a sign or something huh? Like fate's trying to tell us something." He turns a weirdly hopeful face on Peter.

"Yeah," Peter retorts, "trying to tell me to leave before the Daily Bugle gets a picture of us together."

Deadpool's face falls, and it's kinda like kicking a puppy, or maybe more accurately a mange-ridden, fleabag mongrel, the kinda dog you know if you took home would piss on the carpet, bite the mail-man and unapologetically hump every visitor's leg.

"Fine, it's not like I wanted to be your sidekick anyway, me and the boxes work better alone." Maybe it's the healing factor, but Deadpool's recovery time from insults and slights is impressive. Peter squashes the too-noble-for-his-own-good part of him that makes him feel a little bad. Deadpool's dangerous and a killer, but he's also ugly and lonely and clearly not right in the head. "So I guess I'll be off then, been fun and all, hanging with you, but time is money and money makes the world go round or something..."

Deadpool starts to stroll away, still blathering on, pausing only to nod as if in consideration now and again.

"Not so fast, Deadpool." Peter drops lithely to the ground, following after the merc.

"Changed your mind about teaming-up? Too bad, too late now, that was a one time offer and you blew it mister."

"That's not what I -"

"No need to grovel, Spider-Boy!" Deadpool turns quickly, almost spins really, maybe even sorta pirouettes, and drapes a well-muscled arm over Peter's shoulder, which he shrugs off disgustedly, "The boxes say I should give you another chance, so stop crying, you're embarrassing us all!"

"Wade!" Peter growls, frustrated to the point he might actually start crying, "I'm not teaming up with you, I'm kicking you out of the city."

"Oh!" Deadpool droops visibly like a deflated balloon. "I thought you said you just stopped me to steal my hotdog?"

"I said that so you wouldn't make a scene, now I'm telling you to get out. There's enough crime in this city, we don't need you making things worse." Peter crosses his arms and tries to emit authority. It seems to work, even if he is several inches shorter than the other man. Deadpool pouts and scuffs a booted foot against the side-walk petulantly. "'S'not fair, haven't even done anything yet."

"Yet," Peter repeats grimly, "c'mon Deadpool, for once in your life, do the smart thing and just leave before I make you."

Deadpool shifts, bristling slightly at the implicit threat, and there's something dangerous in that slight movement that changes his demeanour from that of an annoying but mostly harmless irritant into that of a violent killer. Peter is reminded of how dangerous Deadpool is; not as fast as him, but fast nonetheless, and strong and far more casual about using deadly force. Peter is pretty sure Deadpool wouldn't actually kill him, he's heard Deadpool's become reformed for a given value of reformed, but he's sure Deadpool would cheerfully stab or shot him with non-lethal force. Which. He would heal, but it would still hurt.

Still, better him than some innocent civilian, so Peter braces himself and readies his web-slingers pre-emptively. New Yorkers recognise the warning signs of a superhuman brawl brewing and clear off the sidewalks, a few of the more foolhardy gathering at a safe-ish distance to watch.

“You gonna make me? Put your money where your mouth is? Never understood that saying, I mean now that's unhygienic, money is filthy! I guess that's why if you have a lot they call ya filthy rich...”

Peter tries to tune him out. Normally, he's the loudmouth one in any fight and it's weird getting a taste of his own medicine. He hopes it's less obnoxious coming from him. It looks like a fight is inevitable now and he takes a couple of steps back, tired muscles tensing as he readies himself.

Deadpool clearly feeds off the attention of the gathering crowd. Peter is dreading the thought of going toe-to-toe with the mutated merc, but Deadpool is pretty much thrumming with anticipation, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, hands twitching by his sides as if he's trying to decide which weapon to use. A camera flashes in the crowd and Peter groans again.

"Smile for the camera, Spidey," Deadpool calls, mask stretching with the manic grin its concealing.

Peter opens his mouth, losing his temper, "Oh f--"

He's cut off by the wail of sirens in the distance and the dreadfully familiar sound of an explosion. Someone screams in the distance.

"Oh boy," Deadpool is standing on tiptoes, peering over the crowd with cheerful interest, "that doesn't sound good, huh? In fact, sounds like somebody could use help from a friendly man in spandex."

Peter sighs, but Deadpool is right, however annoying he is about it. "Last time I checked both of us fit that description,” he points out, “you going to make yourself useful?"

"Moi?" Deadpool gestures towards himself in mock disbelief, "nah, causing trouble is more my style." There's a slight edge to the words under the grating cheeriness.

Peter doesn't have time to argue or point out that Deadpool can't get offended about his reputation when it's as well-earned as his is, or that if he wants to prove he's capable of more than chaos, now is a perfect, gift-wrapped opportunity. "Fine," he says curtly, "if you don't feel you have any responsibility to help so be it." He pushes against the ground and leaps into the air, firing a webslinger and swinging away.

"Glad you understand!"

Peter shakes his head, disgusted and annoyed with himself for being a little upset. Of course Deadpool wasn't going to help, not for free anyway. What did the lives of a few people mean to him? He forced the merc out of his mind as he swung towards the noise and smoke, leaving Deadpool behind him.